


Disc Of Riches- Darkiplier Ending

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Part 2 of A Disc Of Riches, if the wheel stops on A Date With Darkiplier.





	Disc Of Riches- Darkiplier Ending

“You’ve won… A Date with Darkiplier!”

Behind him, Mark heard Dark sigh heavily before dropping his knife in anger, striding up to the stage. 

“Wilford, this is ridiculous.”

“None of this negativity, sir,” Wilford said cheerily, drawing a table and chairs out of thin air. With a light shove and a snap of his fingers, he seated Dark at one end of the table, scowling across at Tyler, suddenly frozen into a sitting position at the other end. The lights dimmed; a candle flared to life. 

In the candlelight, the blade of Dark’s dropped knife flickered, a tiny gleam in the shadows. Mark stretched out a too-short leg, feeling desperately for the handle–

“Now that our guest, the lovely Darkiplier, has deigned to join us,” Wilford was saying, ignoring Dark’s sneer, “why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, contestant?”

“Will–”

Mark waited for Dark to begin to respond before he scooted the chair, a fraction of an inch at a time. Closer, a little closer…

“This is incredibly inefficient,” Dark scoffed, standing abruptly with a screech of his chair. Mark, his foot finally on the dagger, froze in place. 

Before Wilford could move, Dark had drawn his gun, clicked the hammer into place, and fired two shots: straight into Tyler’s chest. 

Mark stifled his scream, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. He’s gonna be fine, he’s not dead, we just have to get out of here–

“Dark, you ruin all my fun,” Wilford was screaming, knife raised. Dark’s attention was on Wilford, his back to Mark, arms folded in front of him.

“For someone that claims to specialize in murder, you’re not very good at it,” he sneered. 

As Wilford launched into a tirade, Mark scraped Dark’s fallen dagger towards him. He was making noise, but at this point, he didn’t care. 

By the time Mark had worked the knife into his hands, the blade sawing against his wrists more than the rope, Dark had summoned his personal tornado of miasma to block out even more of Wilford’s bright stage lights. 

When the knife dropped from his hands with a clang of metal on concrete, Wilford and Dark didn’t even look his way. The stage itself seemed to be warping, changing colors, growing protrusions. It hurt Mark’s brain to look at. The second his hands were free, Mark dropped to the floor. He couldn’t get to Tyler, not with Will and Dark fighting over his body, warping reality where they stood. 

The glowing exit sign was behind him, only a few body lengths away. Mark turned away from the stage, now a mess of pink and black, and began moving towards the door. 

He was two steps away– he couldn’t breathe, the whole world turning to fear– I am not afraid of them– Now one–

With a gasp of relief, Mark pulled himself upright to bolt through the door, shutting it quickly behind him. He slouched against the door, struggling for air, feeling his heart beat heavily in his chest. That wasn’t so hard, now he only had to get Tyler out, and the two of them could find the other Egos–

A loud beep sounded from the dimly lit hallway in front of him. Frozen in fear, Mark watched as Google_B walked around the corner. 

“Google, thank goodness you’re here, you have to help–” Mark paused, registering the android’s form fully. Google_B stood as stiffly as he always had, but something, something was different.

“Hello, Markiplier.” Google_B spoke, and a jolt of panic went through Mark. The droid raised his head, looking Mark fully in the face, locking eyes. Google_B’s normally brown eyes glowed a sinister red, lighting the space between them. 

“G-Google, you–”

“Mr. Darkiplier will be displeased to see you not enjoying the show,” Google_B said, stepping closer, almost smiling. “You should get back to your seat.”

“I h-have to go,” Mark stuttered, glancing over his shoulder, searching for an escape. He was blocked in. A door, through which he could still hear Dark and Wilford fighting, was behind him. Ahead, the hallway, blocked by Google_B. 

Google_B cocked his head, watching Mark flounder. “It seems to be rude to leave a show so early. I’m afraid I cannot allow you to leave.”

“Google,” Mark said, trying to muster authority. “Its me, Mark, and I’m directing you to let me through.” He stepped forward, making to push Google_B aside in a show of bravado. 

“Is there a problem?” Google _R emerged from the shadow behind Google_B, smiling. His eyes lit up, red, casting another red glow over Mark’s face. 

“W-what?” Mark stuttered, moving back. “There’s no problem, Google–” His foot hit another foot, suspiciously like his own, and Mark whipped around to see Oliver directly behind him, reaching for his arm. 

“Please come with me, Markiplier,” Oliver said dully, grasping Mark’s upper arm, hard. Mark winced, flailing, moving away. 

A hand landed on his other arm, a fourth set of red eyes emerging from the dimly lit hall. Google_G held Mark’s other arm in a vice-like grip, moving in tandem with Oliver to turn him around, march him back into the theater. 

Frustrated, struggling, Mark looked up at the Googles, all looking at him impassively, eyes glowing. “Why– why are you doing this?”

They all froze to answer in unison: “We have been programmed to do so.”

Mark, as they held still for all of a moment, had an idea. A stupid idea, certainly, but an idea.

“Okay, Googles.” As he spoke the words, they froze again, Oliver with a hand halfway to pushing the door to the theater open. He left the sentence hanging in the air, moving quickly, peeling Oliver and Google_G’s hands off of his now-forming bruises. 

After a beat, all four Googles turned to see Mark hastily backing down the hallway. 

“Markiplier,” Google_B began, moving towards him, “it does not do well to–”

“Okay, Googles,” he said again, cracking a smile at this newfound power. “Um, shut down?”

With four quiet whirrs, each of the Googles sat down where they stood, closing their eyes and going silent. Mark, now alone in the dim hallway, allowed himself a moment to breathe (and another moment to have a tiny victory dance for his own brilliance). 

As he caught his breath, he spotted something familiar across Google_G’s shoulders, and allowed himself to smile even wider. Reaching down, he carefully untangled his backpack straps from Google_G’s still form. He slung it across his back and pulled his bat confidently from its depths. Now, he thought, to find Bim and the others. 

The building shook– an impact? A scream? Whatever it was, it came from the theater, now blocked by four inactive androids. 

He had to find Bim and the other Egos, and fast.

The basement, finally, was the only place he hadn’t looked. Mark didn’t even know that they had had a basement, but, finding the door with steps leading downwards, he shrugged and started down. His footsteps echoed downwards, and he found himself wishing that he had a flashlight. 

There were hastily muffled whispers from below. Mark stopped, heart beating a little faster. Why was he walking down these steps into darkness? This was dumb, this was stupid– 

He swallowed hard. I am not afraid.

“Hello?” His voice echoed back to him.

Someone gasped. “Mark?!”

“Bim, shut up! How do you know it’s him?”

“That’s his voice!”

“All of the Egos and Mark have the same voice, Bim.”

“Doc, is that you? Host?” Mark called down the steps, getting closer to the voices with each step. His foot hit solid ground, and he had the presence of mind to pull his phone out of his pocket, casting its light around the small basement room.

“It is Mark!” Bim cheered, peering at Mark against the relative brightness of the phone’s flashlight. 

Mark looked back at him, mouth dropping open as he took in the rest of the room. The basement held a few boxes of props, a broken wardrobe; what shocked him was the four person-sized cells– cages, really– that held Dr. Iplier, the Host, and Bim, all looking much worse for the wear. 

Dr. Iplier leaned back from the bars. “Mark, the keys are by the stairs.”

Mark dumbly found the keys and opened both Bim and the Doctor’s cells, throwing open the doors. He looked the two Egos up and down in shock.

Dr. Iplier was covered in dirt and what looked suspiciously like blood– he saw Mark looking and smiled wanly. “It’s not mine. Dark was a bit rough with the Googles, and motor oil is hard to avoid.” Mark nodded, snapping his mouth shut, before looking over to Bim.

“I’m fine, Mark, don’t worry.” Bim smiled as convincingly as he could, watching Mark’s eyes go from the wound on his head to the blood staining his shirt.

“What happened?” Mark finally asked, almost tearing up. This was worse than looking in a mirror, knowing that he was the reason that they were hurt.

“Dark wasn’t too happy that I contacted you,” Bim said, suddenly meeting Mark’s eyes. “Why are you here? I told you to stay away from here.”

“I couldn’t–” Mark stuttered, backing down from Bim, who was positively string daggers through him. 

“Mark, you’re the reason he’s doing this! If you’d stayed away, no one else would’ve–”

Bim knew he’d touched a nerve, flinching as Mark hissed, “you think I don’t know that?”

Mark saw Bim flinch, hard, and was immediately filled with remorse. He hastily stowed the bat in his backpack, leaving his hands free. 

Dr. Iplier interjected before either of them could say anything. “Look, let’s get the Host out of here, and you two can hug it out in the parking lot, okay?” 

Mark shot an apologetic look at Bim as he stepped over to the Host’s door, swinging it open with a click. The Doctor was beside him in an instant, helping the Host up from his position, curled on the floor of the cage.

“Is he–” Mark gasped, seeing the Host in the light for the first time, all anger turned to concern. The Host hunched, leaning heavily on Dr. Iplier, breathing labored. A grimy mask– a gag, Mark realized– covered his mouth, circling around his head. The ends of the mask extended to his ears, seemingly blocking out all sound. At the back was a padlock.

“The Host is injured, and cannot see or hear at the moment,” Dr. Iplier said gruffly, “nor can he narrate.” As he spoke, the Doctor pressed his fingers into the Host’s hand, letting him feel the sign language he was using to communicate. The Host visibly relaxed, assured of his rescuers.

“Where–” Bim stopped, looking as horrified as Mark felt. “How do we get it off of him?”

“The key will be on Dark’s person, no doubt.” Dr. Iplier set his jaw. “We’ll have to find him first–”

A scream echoed down the corridor upstairs, rebounding into the basement. 

Heart in his throat, Mark explained: “Dark and Wilford are fighting. Dark– Dark shot Tyler, they’re all in the theater.”

Slowly, the four of them crept up the stairs back to the main hallway, the Host hanging from the Doctor’s arm. Mark looked up and down the hallway, seeing the Googles still asleep at one end, the glass doors of the conference room at the other. 

“Doc, you and Host get outside, fast,” Mark whispered. Behind him, he heard the Doctor’s grunt of affirmation. “Bim, come with me. We need to get the key– and Tyler.”

Bim and Mark stepped towards the inanimate Googles as Dr. Iplier staggered towards the exit, half-carrying the Host. 

“Creepy,” Bim muttered, stepping over Oliver’s feet. Mark couldn’t help but agree.

“Wait,” Bim stopped Mark, about to open the main door to the theater. “There’s a side entrance, one that leads straight up to the stage.”

Mark followed Bim through a maze of dark hallways, almost a crawlspace, before they reached the door. Behind it, Mark could see flashes of light. A wisp of miasma leaked from the crack under the door. 

“I’ll get Tyler,” Mark said, hand on the doorknob. “You grab the key, I guess.”

Bim nodded, frowning. 

Mark creaked the door open slowly, trying not to draw attention to them. He could see Wilford and Dark flinging what he could only describe as energy at each other, bubblegum-colored flashes of light and balls of smoke. The room smelled of blood.

Bim was lucky– the key Dark had been holding had slipped from his pocket, and lay on the floor close to the chair that Mark had been tied to. Quickly, he tiptoed over and slipped it into his pocket. 

Mark felt a pang of guilt as he looked down at Tyler. He was alive, but horribly pale. Gently, apologetically, he grabbed Tyler’s arm to drag him out of the pool of his own blood, away from the stage. Mark looked over at Bim, watching Wilford and Dark fight, distracted. 

“Bim! Help me!” 

Bim turned his head, hurrying over. Together, they each grabbed an arm, and Tyler moved easily, if with a sickening trail of blood. 

They reached the side door again, and Mark went first, maneuvering Tyler over the doorjamb and down the hallway. Bim, with a last look at Will and Dark, shut the door firmly behind him. 

“Bim, we need to hurry,” Mark gasped, as Bim hurried over to him. “They’re going to tear this place apart.”

As the whole building shook, again, Bim and Mark hauled Tyler down the hall, into the main office. Finally, finally, they were outside again. Mark took a moment to breathe as they half-carried, half-dragged Tyler to where the Doctor and Host were waiting. 

Dr. Iplier bent over Tyler where they lay him in the grass, and Bim hurried to unlock the Host’s muzzle. Mark sat, numbly watching them. 

“I can’t believe–”

With a crash, the office began to cave in on itself. Mark turned around, disbelieving. 

The walls and roof seemed to warp out of existence, reappearing in the wrong places. Even safely in the grass by the parking lot, they could hear Dark screaming in rage. 

Bim was the first to see it. “Fire!”

In what seemed like minutes, the building was engulfed. The sounds of Wilford and Dark fighting persisted, even as the office crumbled down. Mark sat, staring at the center of it all. For once, he wasn’t afraid. 

It must have been hours later by the time the smoke cleared and the group got their first glimpse of Wilford and Dark, staggering, panting, covered in dust. They stood in the center of the wreckage of the office, surrounded by rubble. The sky was beginning to lighten.

Mark was the first on his feet, running towards them. Tyler, finally awake, chest bandaged, called weakly after him. Mark didn’t stop, not until he was close enough to both Wilford and Dark. 

With a click, he leveled a gun at them.

Wilford looked back at Mark blankly, almost accepting. Dark, out of breath, glared at him in hate. 

“Look,” Mark began. “I’ve had a few hours to think this over. You two can’t be allowed to do this.” He stared at them over the barrel of the gun, voice hard. “You’re evil, both of you, and you endanger everyone around you. That being said–” 

Mark shot an apologetic look over his shoulder towards Dr. Iplier, the Host, Tyler, and Bim, staring at him from the grass, outlined in the rising sun. He cocked the gun, pointing it at Wilford, then Dark. 

Mark fired a shot.

Dark jumped back, Wilford flinching.

The bullet buried itself in the ground at Dark’s feet. 

“–I can’t bring myself to kill you,” Mark sighed. He dropped the gun, beginning to shake. “I created you, and I’ll regret this for the rest of my life, but I’m responsible for the mess you make.”

Wilford took a step forward. “Mark–”

“Shut UP.” Mark stopped him. “I’m not done yet. I know why you did this,” he said, raising his head to look them in the eyes. “You want attention. You want power.”

Dark and Will looked at each other, unsure, but grateful.

“Well,” Mark said, pushing his hair back, finally relaxing, “you’ll get it. I know you both have fucking magic powers. Fix the office–” he glared at them, “–and as soon as I’m able, you’ll each get a video dedicated to you. You cant make it whatever you want. I’m giving you this,” he warned, seeing the excitement flicker in Dark’s eyes, “to keep you out of my hair. If you’re so desperate for attention, you’ll get it. But if one of you steps so much as a toe out of line,” he leaned in, and Wilford swore that there were two Darks looking at him, “I won’t hesitate to kill not only you, but the idea of you. Got it?”

Wilford and Dark could only nod as Mark looked at them, satisfied, and walked away.

“You may hate him,” Wilford muttered, watching Mark help Tyler into the car, “but you can’t deny one thing, Darkipoo.”

“And what’s that?” Dark muttered, teeth clenched. The Host, Dr. Iplier, and Bim got into the back of Mark’s car, Bim taking a moment to glance towards the sunrise. 

The car’s engine revved, glinting in the early morning light. Inside, Dark knew, the five exhausted people were heading somewhere safe, somewhere away from them.

“You can’t deny, he’s got style.”


End file.
